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DRYZOR CORP. THREAT ANALYSIS AI: TAAS ECHO | CLEARANCE: LEVEL 5 (PROCTOR)
REPORT TYPE: RETROACTIVE HISTORY-SCRYING (FATE MYST FEED)
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ENTRY NO: 002
PRIMARY SUBJECT(S): Vex (Vexxenna Hawkthorn)
LANCE THREAT ASSESSMENT: 2/10 (High Volatility / Hex-Vector)
LOCATION: Fortune’s Landing, Archive Sector
DATE OF EVENT: 25/16/5987 R.A.
DATE RECORDED: 14/13/5993 R.A.
CHRONO-LOG: 0001 Days | CAMP CYCLES: 0
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Proctored Threat Significance
Subject "Vex" displays a high-frequency "Hostility Metric" directly correlated to her lack of biological rest. Her arrival at Fortune’s Landing was preceded by 0.33 cycles of zero-G transit, which she failed to utilize for restorative stasis. TAAS Echo identifies her internal monologue regarding "actuator servos" and "tactical breaches" not as elite scouting, but as chronic paranoia induced by her status as a fugitive from the Order of the Gilded Rose. Her decision-making is heavily compromised by hot-headed friction; she is a pressurized vessel of arcane energy with zero venting capacity.
The subject's reliance on an "Artifact-Class" head-covering to house a biological parasite (Designation: Potato) is a statistically significant inefficiency. This emotional bonding with a lower life form provides a vulnerable vector for psychological manipulation. Furthermore, her "Legacy Witch’s Pact" is analyzed as a recursive failure state. She is attempting to utilize the Thorn-Wrought Codex to delete her own primary functional value—the curse. This logical loop is typical of "Star Elf" derivatives who cannot reconcile their existence with their lack of social utility.
External Asset "Faith" has successfully leveraged a "Sanctuary Logic Trap" to secure the subject’s cooperation. Vex’s acceptance of this arrangement, despite recognizing the inherent "catch," demonstrates a terminal desperation that TAAS Echo finds clinically amusing. She is not being recruited for leadership; she is being installed as a disposable ignition source for the upcoming Lance operation. Her "sins" of rebellion and mental instability make her the perfect candidate for high-fatality missions where corporate loyalty is secondary to raw, volatile output.
Vex was pissed. She’d been ripped from a dead sleep by a call from some woman named Faith, claiming to have a book of mutual interest. If it had been any other book, she’d have torn the caller a verbal rectum wide enough to fly a dragon through.
Faith had also “politely” demanded her presence in a matter of hours. So now, after eight hours crammed into a zero-G Wind Wing, stewing in her own foul temper, Vex was itching to chew this Faith woman’s head off and play a ball game with the cranium. The mental image of some stuck-up high elf getting her head shoved into a hive of cinder wasps brought a grim smirk to her lips.
But this wasn't just any book. The Thorn-Wrought Codex was the key. The only key to saving her sanity and ending a curse that had plagued her bloodline for thousands of years. So she flew, trading precious sleep for a cauldron of brooding, emotional brew.
She watched the world flow below, an untamed horizon of forests and mountains broken by the occasional settlement clawing its existence from a wilderness that wanted nothing more than to swallow it whole. “But, hey, that’s what adventurers are for,” she muttered, absent-mindedly toying with a lock of her red hair.
“We’re coming in for landing, Miss,” the ceangar pilot announced. “Hope you got some sleep.”
“Yeah,” Vex lied dejectedly. Stupid girl, she cursed internally, rolling the bar piercing on her tongue. Being on the run from the Order of the Gilded Rose for four years had frayed her nerves to dust and left her few safe havens.
Her ears popped as the car descended into Fortune’s Landing. She ran a mental systems check. Brand gauntlet, check; hex gun, check; coin purse, pack, therra-node, check. She wiggled her oversized and floppy witch hat; a muffled grumble from within confirmed: Potato, check. She triple-checked everything, the memory of nearly losing her hex gun in that motel ambush last week still fresh.
“We have arrived, Miss,” the pilot said as the hatch popped open.
“Thanks,” Vex grunted, grabbing her gear. She slapped her ratty witch’s hat atop her explosive red hair and stepped onto the landing field. The air was thick with the smells of hot metal, fuel, and dust. The dust triggered the meekest, most infuriatingly cute sneeze. Vex scowled and all-but-sprinted to the nearest security checkpoint.
The checkpoint was manned by a half-dozen armed personnel, but Vex’s eyes immediately locked on the Knyght, a mountain of reinforced power armor. Joints, she thought instinctively. Special ammunition, target the actuator servos in the knees and elbows. She shook the paranoid thoughts from her head. They were just guards. Still, the reassurance felt hollow.
Vex skipped the main line and approached the Knyght. “Express Entry?” his voice droned, bored enough to sand rust.
“Yeah,” Vex replied, resisting the urge to tap her foot.
“Adventurer?”
“Yeah,” she repeated, folding her arms.
“Profile, classes, and seals, please.”
Vex flicked her civic profile from her therra-node to the Knyght’s helmet display.
“Name: Vexxenna Hawkthorn.” Vex cringed. “Species: Human/Star Elf. Skin: Caucasian/lavender… Hair: red. Eyes: violet. Age: 28. Height: 5’11". Weight: –”
“Don’t be an ass and read that aloud,” Vex interrupted, her voice sharp.
The Knyght paused, his helmeted gaze fixed on her for a long moment before he continued. “Your eyes and hair are not natural colors for humans. Augmentations?”
“Related to my Legacy Witch’s Pact,” Vex said in a falsely chipper tone. “Got ‘em from my dear ol’ ma.”
The Knyght returned to reviewing her documents. “Classes: Witch and Hexxen Bane. Rank: Silver Journeyman.” The bored tone now held a new note of caution. “We have a Witch coven on the west side of town, and Hexxen Banes pass through from time to time. Be sure to keep your head down. Neither will take kindly to you.” He motioned for another guard to pat her down while he reviewed her seals.
“Let’s see… Endow Seals for: Express entry, border crossing, controlled substances up to class D, restricted weapons up to class C, hextech creation… thirty-five vehicle and mount seals.” He looked up from the data. “By the gods, lady. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a ceangar high-speed junky.”
Before she could form a comeback, the guard patting her down tried to remove her hat. Vex slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch it.” She removed it herself. “Class A pocket dimension storage. Inherited. And my familiar is inside. He doesn’t like strangers handling his spot.”
The Knyght’s scanner glowed. “You have a seal for the item?”
“Check for yourself, can-man,” Vex snapped.
“A seal to carry, use, and transport… Artifacts?” The Knyght's tone finally cracked with disbelief. “This is correct? Artifact permissions aren’t often granted to Adventurers of your rank.”
“Well, I ain't about to go around declaring I'm wearin' an artifact on my head. Like, seriously, what kinda idiot am I? You gonna let me through or just waste time?"
The Knyght sighed, the sound staticky. He was done with her. He waved her through. It was ironic, Vex thought, that she could pull off a ‘holier than thou’ act rather well, considering she was more damned than most. She thought it was funny that all his power armor and training came down to his inability to dispute the bureaucratic forms.
After collecting her things, Vex pulled up a map. The archive was twenty miles away, built into the side of Mt. Radur.
Vex crossed the street from the gate to a vehicle rental and road supply shop labelled Road-Way Station. She rented a burly but cheap motorcycle, pressed the ignition charm against the starter key on the bike before roaring down the street. She passed everything from factories to apothecaries. Her eyes scanned the city, noting the quarry in the mountain and the lack of visible farms—likely underground. But she also noted a fatal flaw: the city wall fused into the sheer cliff face of Mt. Radur, leaving a massive, undefended approach from that very cliff. A rookie mistake. The perfect escape route. Get the book and get the hell out, Vex thought to herself.
The archive was built into that cliff, its entrance a pair of twenty-foot-tall metal doors. The sight was imposing. After dismounting her bike and a little examination of the gates, Vex found an intercom. “Business?” a surly voice grunted.
“I was called by a lady named Faith. A personal matter.”
The seal scanner lit up. Vex sent her profile. A moment later, a buzzer sounded and the heavy doors ground open, releasing a gust of cool air that smelled of aged paper and deep stone.
The entry hall was opulent, filled with priceless art. Vex’s eyes were drawn to the lone, beardless dwarf at the reception desk. Clanless, she noted, her hand resting on her hexgun.
Without looking up from his book, the dwarf, Rolland, pointed. “Her office is on the top floor. Elevator’s down the hall. She is expecting you.”
Vex walked past priceless, damaged displays—clear signs of a recent fight—and called an archaic elevator. The car ascended fifty floors, opening into a luxurious office. On a hovering marble desk sat the Thorn-Wrought Codex.
“Vexxenna Hawkthorn.”
Vex tore her eyes from the book. A woman with short blond hair and iceberg-blue eyes stood behind the desk, holding a crystal decanter. She was dressed in a scarlet and gold dress suit with a white button-up beneath. She carried herself with the serene confidence of someone who has never known bad luck. This was Faith.
“It is a genuine pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Faith said, her smile warm but her eyes calculating.
“Faith, I take it?” Vex moved forward, ignoring the offered brandy. “I’d rather have coffee. Black.”
“Ah. I am afraid I have no coffee on hand. That term you used… ‘joe’? A rather brutish word for a simple bean infusion.” She gave a slight, dismissive shake of her head. “My brother, however, is fond of it. Perhaps when we collect him.”
Vex’s patience snapped. “I’m not here for coffee. You’ve got what I need right there.” She pointed at the Codex. “Name your price. I’m in a hurry.”
“Still being pursued, are we?” Faith asked, resting a hand on the book. “That motel room in Caloora last week... a close call. The Order of the Gilded Rose is becoming more efficient, you know. Their resources are vast.”
Vex froze. The ambush had been uncomfortably close. “How the hells do you know about that?” Vex’s hand tightened on the grip of her hexgun, her mind racing for an exit. Faith’s office suddenly felt less like a luxury suite and more like another gilded cage.
Faith’s gaze softened with faux sympathy. “You must be so very tired of running. And the voices… are they loud today?”
Vex flinched, a raw nerve touched. She said nothing.
“I know what it is you truly seek,” Faith continued, her voice a soothing murmur. “An end to the curse. But you are chasing a ghost. You seek the Thorn-Wrought Omens.” She leaned forward. “I know what they are. The very instruments of your ancestor's folly. Not mere cursed items, but devices of profound power, each one a focal point for the malevolence that plagues your bloodline. To destroy them is to unravel the knot of the curse, one by one. This Codex is the map, Vexxenna. Without it, you are lost. With it, you have a chance.”
Faith let the silence hang in the air.
“So you’ve got the map,” Vex finally said, her voice tight. “What’s your price?”
“Sanctuary,” Faith offered simply. “A home, here in this archive, where the Order cannot touch you. Does that not sound appealing?”
Vex snorted internally. Sanctuary. Sure. The last time someone offered her sanctuary, she found herself metaphorically wearing the executioner's collar and literally wearing containment bands on her wrists. “Nothing’s free,” Vex snarled. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. An arrangement,” Faith said, her smile unshakable. “I am offering you a position. You will lead an adventurer’s lance to collect the Omens. In return, you will have sanctuary, a salary, benefits, and access to equipment others can only dream of. I am not offering you a job, Vexxenna. I am offering you the only viable path to salvation.”
Vex stared. It had to be a trap. But it was also the only real hope she’d had in years. “Why? Why help me?”
“Your curse makes you uniquely qualified to handle these Omens. And I have my own reasons for wanting them secured,” Faith said vaguely. “All you need to do is agree. You will be doing the very thing you set out to do, but with the backing of a powerful enterprise, and with a team to watch your back.” She trailed a single, perfect finger across the metal-wrapped spine of the Codex. “I simply require a drop of your blood to open it. You see, we need each other.”
“So I do your dirty work, and you let me use my own damn book?”
“I pay you handsomely to achieve your own goals,” Faith corrected gently. “Regarding how to dispose of the Omens, we will discuss that once we have one in hand. We must have the MacGuffin ring before we can cast it into Mount Doom, after all.”
Vex stared at her blankly. “What’s a ‘guffin’? Where the hells is Mount Doom?”
Faith sighed, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “An old story. It is of no consequence.” She produced a sheaf of documents. “If you agree, sign these, and we can begin.”
Vex eyed the papers warily. “You said a team. Who?”
Faith’s brilliant smile returned, holding all the warmth of a distant star. “Why, my brother, of course. We will go and collect him now.”
